


Good Intentions

by redflowerblooming



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Anatoly just wants nice things for Matt, M/M, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Russian Mafia, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, rated M for future chapters, Русский | Russian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-17 22:29:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5887747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redflowerblooming/pseuds/redflowerblooming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had good intentions. He really did.<br/>He didn't mean to leave for so long, never thought so many years would pass this way.<br/>It's not his fault the Brotherhood has a hard time letting go.<br/>Much like the difficulty he has with letting go of his blind devil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Intentions

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration for Title: [ Disclosure - Good intentions ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pD5RxgwAnYo) Basically encompasses Anatoly's mindset for this AU  
> Hovertext is included so hover over the Cyrillic phrases for the English translation

Thank you so very very much to [Kate ](http://freakindirtyenabler.tumblr.com/), who was so much help in getting me to finish this so I could share it w/you all! :)

The song that was the background during this chapter's inception: [New Slang - The Shins](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zYwCmcB0XMw)

 

 

****************

  They’re laughing, elbowing and jostling each other to get a better view while they watch Kiril and Evgeny fight in the ring. Their fists are flashing as they move their bodies with quick-footed movements while the rest cheer and clap, a few bottles of vodka also being passed around.

  
  There’s a noise near the front, the door opening, and Anatoly turns to look as three men enter – two business-looking types in suits, and one in plainclothes. He turns back to the fight just as Kiril’s hand is drawing back and Evgeny collapses against the mat. Some cheer loudly while others let out rousing grumbles, forking over either American dollars or rubles to the winning betters.

  
  By that time, a few of the others have noticed and it’s Daniil who goes over to speak to the suited men. One of them has a deep voice, with a strange lilt that Anatoly can’t really understand, but then again he has a hard time understanding anyone from around here. Now that they’ve collected their winnings, two of the senior men go to stand with Daniil to even out the odds in case things go south here.

  
  Although, the third man doesn’t really even seem to be aligning himself with them – he’s hanging back and actually looks uncomfortable being here. He’s carrying a large black duffel bag across one shoulder, and what looks like a set of boxing gloves tied to the bag. It’s not until the man turns to the side that Anatoly sees the small boy holding onto his other hand.

  
  Anatoly turns back slightly, and motions with his left hand, trying to get Sergei’s attention. The older man sees him after a moment, and comes over, crisp notes sliding into his wallet as he tucks it away for safe-keeping.

  
_" Кто они?”_ Anatoly asks, gesturing at the new-comers.

  
_" Ааа, ирландцы – Даниил хочет расширять свой игорный бизнес, а они, видимо, разбираются в этом.”_ Sergei rolls his eyes at this, but he doesn’t look too pained. It’s obvious he’s not that worried about it.

  
_" А кто третий – тот с сумкой?”_

  
_" М? Один из их боксеров, думаю. Он их дойная корова и с чем-то им вроде как помогает, точно не знаю.” _He sounds bored, so Anatoly waves him off, letting Sergei go back to another round of betting, before turning back to watch the man and the kid. They’re by themselves now, the suits have moved off with Daniil and his men, probably to talk a little more privately.

  
  Surprisingly, the kid was actually being really good – most kids Anatoly’d been around had either been crying or misbehaving. Basically being little nuisances. The boy smiles at something the man he’s with says briefly, before it’s cut off with a little frown, his brows pinching as he lets go of his hand. The smaller Irishman in a suit comes over to them, speaking quietly into the boxer’s left ear. The man looks upset, opens his mouth like he’s going to argue, but after a quick glance to his right he seems to think better of it. Instead, he nods, looking the businessman in the eyes until the man takes the hint and goes back over to the others.

  
  The boxer turns to face the kid, his back to Anatoly, and speaks softly to the boy for a minute, waiting for a few moments before wrapping him up in a tight hug. He watches as the boy walks halfway around the ring from the entrance, putting a small bag with what must be schoolwork down at the desk sitting there.

  
  Anatoly and the rest of the group associated with Daniil are in the back right corner of the building, nearest to the ring, keeping to themselves while the Irishmen are in a corner of their own near the front while they discuss business matters. The boxer has reluctantly joined them, not looking thrilled at whatever he’s being asked to do. The boy’s move to the little study area, and his movements tell Anatoly that this must not be his first time here with the boxer, has brought him across from the small matches they’re having – and it doesn’t seem to bother him in the slightest. Though why the boxer, the father presumably, is bringing such a young child to a place like this is probably not a question Anatoly should be thinking too much about.

  
  The boy is fairly small, as he climbs into the chair at the desk he starts swinging his legs, which are nowhere near close to touching the ground. He has this mop of dark brown hair, and clothes that look a little too big for him; perhaps they’re hand-me-downs from an older sibling? He’s looking confused at the piece of paper that he’s taken out of his bag and is trying to work on, brows furrowing as he pushes his lower lip out slightly, almost pouting.

  
  It’s kinda cute, Anatoly thinks for a second.

  
  _Черт!_

  
_ Какого хрена?! _He’s never been interested at all in any sort of kid before – mostly he just finds them annoying. His brother, Vladimir, was the one exception to that. So why can’t he stop paying attention to this boy?

  
  He’s not a damn pedophile, the mere thought of anything sexual with this boy or any other kid has him wanting to vomit, feeling absolutely disgusting – a heavy sour ball in the pit of his stomach.

  
  In fact, the interest is more like this intense tugging in his chest, so strong that he rubs his hand against it, thinking that maybe he has heartburn or something. He’s about to turn away, try to get back into the fights or see if they all even needed to still be there, actually surprised that no one other than Sergei perhaps has noticed his absence or interest in the newcomers, and the boy in particular. Just as he’s turning, he sees the boy leaning forward with his elbows on the desk, face looking frustrated by the schoolwork most likely. He sees the boy reach up and rub his own chest in the exact place.

  
  _Что за дерьмо?_

  
  It’s then that the boy looks up, locking eyes with him. The boy has these big brown eyes, almost the color of darkened amber, and he looks surprised… or curious, it’s hard to tell, his mouth hanging open just a little. His arm is still pulled up to his chest, so Anatoly can see the underside of his arm, and there – right above his elbow is a cluster of dots forming a sort of pyramid shape with a few more dots grouped on the inside.

  
  The same pattern in the same spot on his own arm; though the pattern is on his left arm as opposed to his right. The dawning realization of the situation hits him full force not too long after.

  
  The small boy in this strange country so far from what he has always called home is his soul-bond.

  
  Fuck.

  
_" Блядь!”_ Oh. Well that part he might have said out loud. A few from the group behind him looked over, but seeing nothing strange they went back to counting out and divvying up their earnings.

  
  Anatoly runs his hand through his hair in frustration, only to regret it slightly at the last moment when he sees the kid’s face light up in delight.

  
  Damn it, he’s used his arm that has the bond mark on it; the kid must’ve seen it.

  
  He hadn’t even gotten the mark until a few years ago after a nasty brawl with a punk who wouldn’t pay back what he owed them. He’d had cuts and bruises all over, and the mark was a faint reddish-brown color, so he’d thought nothing of it at the time. It wasn’t until a couple months later that someone pointed out it might be a soul-mark.

  
  Anatoly had dismissed it – who would be bonded to him after all the horrible things he’d done and would probably continue to do? He hadn’t even considered about how young that would make his supposed ‘bond-mate’.

  
  Of course, now the kid was climbing off the chair and coming over towards him. Anatoly was the furthest away from the others, but closest to the boy, so there was no danger in him running into any of them. Fuck, this was just his luck, wasn’t it?

  
  He should just turn around and walk away, pretend he hadn’t really seen anything. Except he was rooted to the spot, frozen in place as the smiling boy ran up to him, latching onto his pants leg with his fists.

  
  “Hi!” the boy chirped, grinning happily up at the older man. “My name’s Matty – well, it’s Matthew, but Daddy calls me Matty and I like it, and I think I’ll like you, so you can call me that too! If you want.” He adds quickly, like he’s remembering to practice his manners. The words all come out in a rush, and Anatoly has trouble deciphering most of what the kid is saying, although he understands the boy is trying to tell him his name.

  
  _“Mattyu?”_ It comes out weird sounding even to him, the syllables falling strangely on his tongue, his accent marring the boy’s name.

  
  Luckily, the boy merely giggles, amused rather than offended by the murder of the vowels. “No, it’s Matthew.” He says it slowly this time, which allows Anatoly’s brain time to keep up with his mouth.

  
  It takes him another few seconds. Oh. “Matvey?” He says just as slowly, and the boy looks confused for a moment before smiling again.

  
  “You talk kinda funny. Are you from Jersey? Daddy says the ones that talk weird are from Jersey.” He asks innocently, although truthfully Anatoly as no idea where or what the boy is talking about.

  
  _" Что?”_ He moves his arm finally, about to lower it to his side when the boy grabs it, twisting it a bit to get a better look at the mark. The boy’s face looks almost puzzled, tracing the dots with his small fingers.

  
  “Hey, you have the same as me!” He exclaims excitedly, proudly lifting up his own arm to show Anatoly. “It’s the same color and everything!” The boy is practically bouncing up and down he’s so ecstatic.

  
  Sure enough, if Anatoly had any doubts before they’ve been expelled now – as the small boy basically shoves the evidence right in his face.

  
  Of course, it’s then that his traitorous body defies him, and instead of backing away like he should, he gets closer. Eyes tracing those tiny dots, the shapes, colors, even the spacing in between each one, all so familiar to him – but completely new all the same.

  
  The boy gasps lightly after a second, his eyes wide as saucers. “Are you my match?!” He’s grinning so wide, such hope and joy in that little face, that Anatoly answers in spite of himself.

  
  _" Да.”_ He nods, knowing the boy won’t understand him otherwise. _" Я твой... и ты мой.”_ The last part comes out in a whisper, but it doesn’t matter, not when this boy – Matvey – is looking at him like he’s the whole world, the one who hung the moon and stars. At that point Anatoly doesn’t care, would reach out and pull the clouds from the sky for this boy, his boy, and wants to give him everything in his power and even beyond that.

  
  Matvey reaches both his arms up suddenly, opening and closing his fists repeatedly, looking impatient. Oh, Anatoly realizes after a moment, he wants to be picked up. A part of him screams in protest, wanting to denounce all of this and go back to caring only about Vladimir. That part is drowned out by these new emotions however, and this utter sense of right and being complete fills him – the thought that he hasn’t ever been this happy dawns on him with startling clarity.

  
  “Please?” the small voice shocks him out of his musings, and he’s moving before he even really knows what’s happening.

  
  He reaches under the boy’s arms and carefully picks him up, being very cautious. Fuck, he doesn’t want to hurt him, even accidentally. Anatoly ends up settling Matvey against his hip, one arm underneath him for support.

  
  It’s strange having him so close now, and also one of the best feelings in the world. Up close, he sees how long the boy’s eyelashes are, almost like a girl’s, and his cute little button nose. He’s so young, much younger than Volodya, and probably smaller than he was at the same age too.

  
  “Matvey.” He tests out the name again, getting familiar with all the syllables, feeling his own lips quirk up into an answering smile to the one he’s being given.

  
  “How come you say my name weird? Is it ‘cause you’re from Jersey? Does everyone talk like you in Jersey? I’ve never been.” He adds the last part sullenly, even though Anatoly is still confused as to what a ‘Jersey’ is.

  
  He tries to convey that next, hating how awkward his voice sounded – English was still as foreign to him as when he first started learning back at home. “Am not from… _Jersey_. Am from Russia.”

  
  The boy looks a little surprised, and it may be from the slight hoarseness of his voice; he hasn’t spoken more than the boy’s name in his tongue since first seeing him. “Is that in Jersey?”

  
  Anatoly’s pronunciation was off, saying it as he would at home. He tries again, using a more American pronunciation this time. “No. _Russia_. Is country long way away from here. Very big.” He finds it pleasing to tell Matvey about his home country. He wants to tell the boy everything – but mostly he just wants to know more about his soul-bond.

  
  Matvey’s face looks skeptical at this, “Bigger than Hell’s Kitchen?”

  
  It makes Anatoly want to laugh, but he remembers not believing that anywhere was bigger than Moscow when he was that young, too.

  
  “Bigger.”

  
  “Bigger than New York?” His voice is disbelieving, and Anatoly is struggling very hard not to burst out in laughter at his poor boy.

  
  “Much bigger. _Очень большая_. Is bigger than all America!” He can’t a small chuckle at that as Matvey’s eyes grow as wide as saucers.

  
  “No way!” The boy’s voice is hushed, as if he’s trying to contain a secret between them.

  
  “Is truth – very, very big. Biggest in whole world!”

  
  “Woooah…” He’s clearly stunned, looking at Anatoly as if he had just shown him the world’s greatest magic trick. “I wanna see! Will you show me? Can we go, can we??” Matvey is so excited now, wiggling a bit in his arms. Anatoly tightens his grip somewhat, trying to keep his hold on the boy secure.

  
  His voice is soft now, but still loud enough that Matvey can hear him. “ _Да._ I take you, Matvey. You can see Moscow – Is city where I live.”

  
  “Today?”

  
  “Not today, Matvey.”

  
  “Oh…ok. Tomorrow?”

  
  “Not tomorrow.”

  
  “Then when?” He pouts, and Anatoly resists the urge to pepper his little face with kisses.

  
  “Someday, _Птичка_. Someday I show you.” He hopes that day isn’t too far off.

  
  Matvey sighs, like he’s very put-out that Anatoly didn’t offer to leave that very minute. “Ok…Will you come see my house—” he stops and squints up at the older man for a second. “What is your name? You never told me!”

  
  " _Я извиняюсь_ , Matvey. My name is Anatoly.” He says the words as slowly and clearly as he can; luckily they’re a little more familiar to him, one of the first whole sentences he learned to say in English.

  
  “Anatoly?” Matvey stumbles over the letters a little, the syllables somewhat foreign in his small mouth. “I never heard that name before!”

  
  The older man smiles softly at the boy, “I don’t think you will, _Птичка_. Not in New York.”

  
  Matvey looks confused for a moment, but tries to say it again, precious thing – only he gets tongue-tied and stops, face flushing a bright red. Honestly, Anatoly thinks it’s one of the cutest fucking things he’s ever seen.

  
  Though it’s cute, he doesn’t want to make the boy feel bad; so he decides to take pity on him, and let him use a nickname. Anatoly thinks it’ll endear him more to the boy as well. “My brother, Volodya, not able say my name when he small, neither. So he call me Tolik.” He knows he must sound awful but he wants to tell this boy so much, which means he has to end up sacrificing the time it would take to properly say what he means. He sees Matvey trying to mouth the words for the diminutive, but he still looks unsure, so Anatoly tries to make it even easier for him. “I think, maybe, I like you call me _Tolya, да?_ ”

  
  “Tolya?” The boy smiles, this version of his bond’s name much simpler for him to say properly. He repeats it a few times, grinning wide enough that Anatoly can see that he’s missing a tooth in the front, a tiny gap where the small, white pearl used to be. He inhales excitedly before letting it out in one big gust, words falling over each other like foam from a waterfall. “So you’ll come see my house, right? Right? It’s small, but it’s big enough for me and Daddy – are you gonna come stay with us?”

  
  Anatoly has trouble understanding it all, but he does catch something about the boy’s house, and something about him; it’s a bit too much for him to process correctly at the moment. He opens his mouth to try and answer – but is stopped when he hears the loud, panicked voice shouting, “Matty?!”

  
  Matvey twists around in his grip towards the sound of the man’s voice, replying back, “I’m over here, Daddy!”

  
  Anatoly barely has time to think about this statement, let alone put the boy down or back away like nothing’s happened – when the boxer from earlier comes barreling around the corner, eyes locked on Matvey.

  
  “Hi, Daddy!” The boy chirps, completely oblivious to the mounting tension that is already extremely apparent to the Russian. The boxer is moving forward slowly, like he thinks Anatoly would hurt Matvey if he made any sudden movements; as if he thought Anatoly was some kind of wild animal. That thought has him irrationally angry for a moment, but then he realizes that to this man – the father of his bond-mate – he is dangerous and unpredictable. It’s fairly clear that Anatoly is one of the gangsters here, his long-sleeved shirt doing nothing to hide the prison tattoos on his hands, which happen to be resting against his son’s upper back and leg – directly in the boxer’s line of vision.  
Anatoly takes a deep breath, attempting to will away the anger that would cause him to do something he would regret, and that would ultimately hurt his _Мотка_.

  
  “Matty, come here.” The boxer’s voice is soft, yet firm.

  
  The boy looks like he’s starting to catch on to the fact that all may not be well, his brow furrowed in confusion as he looks at his father. He seems torn between wanting to get down to comply with his father’s wishes, and looking back at Anatoly and tightening his grip like he’d rather stay where he is. “Daddy?” His voice is querulous, border lining on trembling – as if he’s finally figured out that his father might not be happy with his apparent new friend. He glances up at his match, and Anatoly’s heartstrings feel like they’re being yanked as he sees those big brown eyes and the wobbling lower lip.

  
  “Now, Matthew!” The use of his full name seems to bother the boy, but his fists twist further around the older man’s shirt – like his instincts are telling him to stay with his bond-mate. Anatoly feels a sort of smug satisfaction at that, but he knows he should try and diffuse the situation; not egg it on so he ends up in a fight with his match’s father, or anyone else who might join in at that.

  So, he gently untangles the boy’s fists from his shirt, pulls him off his hip, and sets him down, trying his best to ignore the little hurt look Matvey is giving him. “Go, _Мотка_. Go to your father.” Anatoly tried to keep his voice firm, but that failed as the boy threw his arms around the older man’s waist, burying his head against his legs. 

“Don’t wanna, Tolya. Wanna stay with you!” He raises his head at that, looking directly at his bond-mate. And, fuck, if that didn’t want to make Anatoly take it all back and fight every single person in this room in order to keep his boy by his side. But it would solve nothing in the long run, certainly wouldn’t endear the other man to him – and it would be almost guaranteed that he would never be able to see Matvey again. No matter how much it would strain and hurt their newly-formed bond.

  
  So he pushed those feelings down deep inside himself, and took the boy’s arms from around him, kneeling down so he could look at Мотка on his own level. “ _Мотя_ , you need to go to your father. I wait here.”

  
  “No!” His voice gets a little petulant at this, “Daddy’s being mean! I think he’s mad at me...” Matvey’s voice trails off and he makes these small sniffling sounds.

  
  “Oh, _солнышко_ , no. Your father not angry – he scared.”

  
  The sniffling stops, and Matvey cocks his head as he considers this. “He’s not?” As Anatoly shakes his head in the negative, the boy questions him again, “Then why’s Daddy so scared?” He seems so perplexed, poor thing, too innocent to even comprehend why his father would be so scared of this man.

  
  “Because I strange?” Anatoly fumbles for the word, “A Strange Man?”

  
  The boy looks puzzled for a moment, his nose wrinkling up as he frowns, before going, “But you’re not a stranger - you’re my match!” He proclaims this happily, smiling a little, unshed tears clinging to his eyelashes.

  
  Anatoly smiles gently back at the boy, “This is true, but your father not know this. So, I am stranger.” Matvey considers his logic, finally seeming to at least understand the basics of the situation.

  
  “Then I’ll tell him!” The boy looks so proud at having thought of this, and Anatoly can’t help the brief chuckle that escapes from him at that. Matvey giggles in response, and wraps his arms back around the older man - hugging him more than clinging to him. “Then you come to my house, right?”

  
  “We’ll see, _Мотка_. Need to hear what your father say first.”

  
  “... Ok.” The boy sighs, but leans up on the tips of his toes, and makes the Russian lean down to his height, so he could peck Anatoly’s cheek with a kiss. Then he darts off to where the boxer has been frozen in place, watching their exchange with a heated glare.

  
  Anatoly is stunned for a moment, feeling the warmth concentrated in that particular spot, hardly recognizing what’s just happened until he hears his boy’s voice again.

  
  “But Daddy!”

  
  “No, Matthew! You never go to strangers without me, you know better!” The man is fuming, that’s for certain. “What if he hurt you? I wouldn’t even know where you were!”  
His father’s voice is loud, upsetting Matvey, who’s begun to cry again, tiny little sniffles as his chest heaves and he rubs at his eyes. It’s also begun to attract the others’ attentions - turning away from their betting and planning, and instead focusing on the little scene the three have created.

  
  “H-he wouldn’t hurt me!” Matvey is hiccuping now, struggling to get the words out.

  
  “You don’t know that, Matty!”

  
  “Yes, I do, Daddy! He’s meant for me! ‘N you said the ones made for each other can’t hurt you...” He practically mumbles the last part, but it’s served its purpose, and the boxer has been stunned into silence momentarily.

  
  “... What’d you say, Matty?” He’s dropped to his knees holding his son’s arms tightly in his hands.

  
  It takes the boy a few seconds, but he responds soon enough. “He’s for me, Daddy. He’s my match!” Matvey tries to lift his arm to show his father the mark, and it seems to take a minute for the man to realize his son is trying to show him something.

  
  By this time, almost everyone in the room has noticed that something is going on, clustering to either side of the end of the room to see what’s happening.

  
  It’s Sergei’s voice that startles Anatoly the most though - Sudden, and slightly behind him, the low hoarseness familiar to him. _" Вот говно. Ты в жопе, Толян.”_ The hand reaching out to grab his arm is startling for a moment as well, Sergei’s large palms turning his arm a little to get a better look at the Mark. _" Если они и правда одинаковые, то ты беги, а я их отвлеку.”_

  
  _“Что?”_ At Anatoly’s confused frown, the elder Russian sighs, before clarifying his statement.

  
  _" Братва.”_ His face softens after a moment, looking between his protege and the small boy near the ring. He lets go of Anatoly’s arm, resting his palm on the younger man’s shoulder instead. _" Ты же понимаешь, они не обрадуются.”_

  
_" Да знаю я. И что мне делать?”_ Anatoly turns slightly to face the older man. _" Я не могу все отрицать, когда доказательства прямо передо мной…”_

  
_" Не волнуйся ты так, Толян. Что-нибудь придумаем. Им это не понравится, но и они не смогут этого отрицать.”_

  
  “Hey, you!”

  
  By the time Anatoly turns back around, the boxer is practically right in front of him. He looks angry, as if he’s going to start showing off his skills as a fighter while using the Russian as the example. Sergei steps up next to him in response, a silent sign of solidarity - his frown nearly matching the one the boxer is currently sporting. But when he sees the boy holding onto his father’s hand - though his eyes are glued onto Anatoly, Sergei’s features soften once again, practically a smile for the older Russian.

  
  The boxer squares his shoulders at this, scowl growing, but looks down when Matvey starts insistently tugging on his father’s hand and pointing at Anatoly’s arm.

  
  “There, Daddy! See, see? It’s the same as me!” Matvey’s voice is excited, but he still looks worried in the face of his father’s anger.

  
  The boxer opens up his mouth to say something else, but is cut off before he can get anything more in.

  
  “What’s going on here?”

  
  It’s Daniil, looking both confused and annoyed, probably from the interruption of his meeting. The two Irishmen come around the corner as well, and they seem to understand the rising tension enough to try and separate the boxer from the growing crowd of Russians. They start speaking with him quietly, and he sees Matvey’s father gesturing angrily in his direction.

  
  Anatoly’s been so focused on Matvey and his father, that it takes him a little longer to realize Sergei isn’t by him anymore. He finally spots him over by Daniil, whispering in their boss’ ear. Informing him of the situation, no doubt. That was good, Sergei was always better at informing quickly and clearly anyways.

  
  He can’t quite hear them, but there’s no mistaking the leader’s surprise when Sergei reaches the end of his explanation.

  
  “ _Soul-bond?_!” His head whips forward to stare at Anatoly, who feels like cringing even though this is in no way his fault.

  
  Daniil comes over then, but is stopped from meeting Anatoly when the larger Irishman comes over. The two talk in hushed whispers, heads bent close together. Then Daniil says something that has the other man nodding in agreement.

  
  The boss looks over at him and nods, beckoning him forward. Anatoly walks over reluctantly, knowing he’s going to get grilled over this later.

  
  _" Это правда?”_ There is no need for him to clarify further.

  
  Anatoly nods, not trusting himself to speak for a moment. _" Да. Правда. Метка мальчика такая же, как моя – мы связаны.”_ Daniil seems to consider this for a moment, before he signals to the Irishmen.

  
  _" Сейчас мы посмотрим.”_ Anatoly barely has time to be confused as suddenly the boxer is in front of him again.

  
  He’s flanked by the Irishmen this time, though they look more like they’re there to restrain him than to help him.

  
  The boxer’s hand shoots out to grab Anatoly’s left arm, nearly pulling him forward with the force of the motion. The Russian almost fights back, but then Sergei is there, steadying him and preventing Anatoly from doing anything rash.

  
  Daniil is the one who takes a hold of his arm next, and by this point Anatoly is starting to feel like a cow at auction. The Russian leader gives the boxer a frown, which has the larger Irishman stepping up and taking the boxer’s shoulder, squeezing until his fighter lets go.

  
  Daniil turns Anatoly’s arm over then, and the smaller Irishman comes up to get a better look as well - the two are study the mark near his elbow intently for a while. Finally, they seem to have gotten all they need from him, and let his arm go. The two businessmen converse in sharp, hurried whispers for a short time. Then, the larger man is calling to Matvey.

  
  Anatoly can’t really understand him, as the Irishman’s accent twists the words that are already so unfamiliar to him into even more confusing patterns. The boxer doesn’t seem to like it though, muttering something in an angry tone. He starts talking to his son then, trying to coax him into coming over to them.

  
  Matvey looks unsure, looking back and forth between his father and the other men, and Anatoly can already tell that the boy doesn’t like them. But then he’s also looking over at him, and the Russian gives him a tiny smile, trying to reassure his tiny soul-bond.

  
  It must work, because then Matvey nods his head, and holds onto his father’s hand as the man slowly leads him over to the group of men.

  
  Daniil doesn’t say much, leaving the talking to the boxer and the Irish businessmen. When the boxer finally leads Matvey over to him, Anatoly can’t help the answering grin in response to the happy look on the boy’s face.

  
  His leader approaches then, leaning down so that one knee was resting on the ground, speaking soft and low to Matvey. The boy hesitates, looking to Anatoly for confirmation. He nods, reaching his arm out in the position it was before - silently showing his boy what to do. Matvey’s gaze returns to Daniil then, putting his right arm out when the leader lays his palms flat, face-up in front of him, having the boy lay his arm across them.

  
  The three other men inspect the boy’s arm for a little bit, until Matvey starts to droop a smidge from tiredness. They all start to converse then, gesturing at Anatoly and Matvey, voices getting louder as time went on.

  
  By this point, the boxer had picked his son up, Matvey’s head resting against his father’s shoulder as the man slowly paced around. It almost took him a moment to realize that it was quiet again. Daniil was looking directly at him, and suddenly Sergei was pushing him forwards, closer to their boss.

  
  “So, _Шестёрка_ , we have judged that it does appear these marks are indeed a matching set. It does seem that you and this boy are bond-mates.” Daniil shrugs, rolling out the cricks in his neck, “Though who knows? I’m no bond-officiate.”

  
  Anatoly wants to smile so badly, but clamps down on the feeling. It wouldn’t do well to act like a fool in front of the Авторитет.

  
  The Irish must’ve been explaining the same thing to the boxer, who suddenly lets out a rage-filled noise, protesting against the news. Matvey was upset again too, sniffling at his father’s anger.

  
  “I’m not letting that-that, _low-life_ , anywhere near him!”

  
  Anatoly didn’t know what that word meant, but even he understood that it was an insult against him - and now he was beginning to grow angry himself. He opens his mouth, ready to defend himself against this _мудак_ , when Daniil steps in once again.

  
  “Perhaps if we remain calm, something can be arranged. Should we bring in a specialist?” The question is aimed directly at the boxer, who stiffens, then shakes his head in the negative. A specialist would only complicate matters, and begin asking questions that shouldn’t be asked to or about either of their parties.

  
  Sergei gets Daniil’s attention, whispering to him some more as he gestures at Anatoly. The boss remains silent for a little while after Sergei has finished, clearly thinking about what was said. They all wait patiently, some more than others, until he speaks again, this time directly to the Irishmen.

  
  “What if we pay?”

  
  The two businessmen look stunned, mouths falling slack briefly before they recover, eyes narrowing in distrust.

  
  “What’d ya’ mean exactly?” The larger one rasps out, while the smaller eyes the Russians with a hint of suspicion.

  
  “Exactly what I said. We will pay you an extra 10% share - in exchange for letting Anatoly have a position overseeing your part of the dealings.” He motions at the younger Russian at this, and Anatoly tries desperately not to let the surprise he feels be too apparent on his face.

  
  The Irish aren’t faring much better either, the smaller one standing there with his mouth hanging open. The larger one’s hands hang limply at his side, but his eyes are still narrowed, obviously not completely convinced. “15%”, he rumbles out, crossing his arms over his barrel of a chest - as if he could really intimidate the Russian leader.

  
  Daniil’s eyes narrow back in response, before he concedes. “Fine. 15% for you and your partner - as well as an additional 5%.” At their excited looks, he quickly cuts it down with the rigidity of his voice in the next statement. “ _That_ ”, he emphasizes, “is only for your boxer. Anyone else touches it and the deal is forfeit.”

  
  The two begin muttering quietly to each other, while the boxer just stands there, eyes wide in shock as he clutches at Matvey’s hand. He has to put the boy down after a moment, probably worried that he might drop him in surprise otherwise.

  
  “Why does Jack get a separate cut?” The smaller one finally adds, looking mildly annoyed.

  
  _Jack?_ Oh, he must mean the boxer. At least now Anatoly knows what to call his bond-mate’s father.

  
  He notices Sergei going unnaturally still at that, and carefully glances over to the older man. Seeing his mentor’s gaze directed at their boss, Anatoly follows it to see Daniil’s eye twitching - a silent but sure sign of his usually hidden anger.

  
  “His is separate because he looks like he _needs_ the money. Don’t you, fighter?” His attention drifts over to the man in question now. “I’m sure you could use the money, provide for your child.” Motioning at Matvey, Daniil’s voice has gotten softer, coaxing the boxer to consider and accept the _very_ generous offer.

  
  The man looks pained, eyes darting between the other men gathered there, before glancing back down at his son. Matvey is starting to look even more tired now, eyes starting to droop in exhaustion as he leans heavily against his father’s leg.

  
  “What’s the catch?” The boxer’s voice is tired as well now, weary from more than just the lateness of the hour.

  
  “No catch, we only ask that you let _Толян_ here visit his bond-mate. Once a week at first, if you are wary, and then perhaps with time we can increase the number of visits.” As Daniil stops talking, Anatoly can see the residual anger and disgust at the thought of letting a criminal see his child on a regular basis, on the boxer’s - no, Jack’s, face.

  
  His chest feels tight suddenly, constricting with the thought of not being able to see Matvey again - he’s already so attached to his young bond-mate. He honestly doesn’t know what he would do if the man refuses this deal, he can imagine an emptiness, a kind of unhealing wound. Beyond that? He knows nothing he could dream up would compare to that painful agony of knowing who your bond-mate was, where they were, what they looked like - but never being able to with them. Hell would probably be a better place.

  
  Daniil seems to pick up on the boxer’s lingering discomfort, and attempts to smooth over the proceedings by sweetening the deal even further for the other man. “For one month, please. If you still do not wish them to have contact afterwards, we will stop the visits. And you will continue to receive your cut until we have finished operations here.”  
This last part seems to be the catalyst for the boxer’s decision. He stands with open surprise on his face, stunned by the admission that he would still get money if he didn’t want the Russian near his son after this trial period.

  
  Anatoly was slightly rankled by this part of the deal. To allow him to have contact, and then possibly have it ripped away? Fate would be a cruel mistress indeed. Part of him wanted to punch Daniil, and ask him what the hell he was thinking. Volunteering him like some guinea pig, when it was the bond between him and Matvey that was at stake here.

  
  However, the rest of him understands that Daniil is just using this as a ploy, knowing it was one of the only ways to get the boxer to agree to any of this at all.

  
  His stomach is in knots for the first time in years, hasn’t felt this nervous since his crush on a classmate back when he had only been a little older than Matvey now. Waiting for the boxer to respond and make a decision was an agony all on its own. His eyes couldn’t decide whether to rest on the father, or his bond-mate. Hoping with everything he had in him that the other man would agree to these terms and at least give him time to prove that he wouldn’t hurt Matvey, could keep him away from the illicit dealings he participated in to survive.

  
  When the boxer looks up, face serious with the surety of his decision, Anatoly swears that his blood slows to nothing more than a trickle, and his lungs quit inhaling - everything just stops, his entire being focused on whatever the man would say next.

  
  To his complete surprise, for the first time in his life, the universe aligns in the next few moments as some higher power seems to grant him a second chance.

  
  Everything feels like a shiny new promise when Jack looks him straight in the eyes -

  
And says _yes_.

**Author's Note:**

> Cultural Notes:  
> 1.) Bratva - The Brotherhood, what we know as the Russian Mafia, & w/that Avtoritet (a higher ranking position in the mafia, leader of a brigade- e.g. Daniil, also Vlad & Toly cannonly in the show), & Shestyorka (a fairly low position in the mafia - e.g. Anatoly at this point)
> 
> 2.) Nicknames- Toly has many for Matt in this- first, the Russian version of his name, Matvey, then diminutives of that (Motka, Motya). Also I used 2 pet names, Ptichka (Little Bird) & Solnyshko (Little Sun)
> 
>  
> 
> Hover text should be enabled for the parts in Russian, but if not let me know & I will upload a link to the translations.
> 
> Also this took me 3 months to write, so don't expect updates on the regular. I don't mind if ppl ask occasionally but don't demand an update every other day.


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